


As You Wish

by ladyannabethstark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Princess Bride AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyannabethstark/pseuds/ladyannabethstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellarke Princess Bride AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish

Any relief that Clarke felt when her overconfident captor succumbed to the poison in his wine disappeared when she was tugged to her feet and told in no uncertain terms that her trials were not over. Her new captor did not even pull the cloth from her eyes, expecting her to blindly follow him as he led her across unfamiliar ground. She could not voice her protests due to the gag that was shoved in her mouth and tied around the back of her head. When they finally came to a halt, her legs were threatening to buckle beneath her and all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

“We’ll rest for a moment,” the man said gruffly, pushing her backwards. “Catch your breath.”

She let out a half-yelp when her bottom hit a boulder, almost falling right off until his hands came to her shoulders and steadied her. Then he was gently untying the blindfold and gag, pulling them away. She blinked several times, squinting as the bright sun filled her vision. Then she saw his face. Or at least, what parts of it were showing. There was a black cloth over his head and the top half of his face. In fact, all that she could see was the area beneath his dark brooding eyes. The freckles dotted across his nose were heartbreakingly familiar, reminding her of the long lost love that she would never see again. Not in this life, at least.

“If you release me, whatever you ask for ransom will be given. I promise you,” she told him, hoping that she could appeal to the pirate’s greed.

The man in black simply laughed.

“You think your promise means anything to me?” he asked.

She scowled at him furiously.

“I was giving you a chance but now let me tell you this. Wherever you take me, you will be found,” Clarke said, lifting her chin defiantly.

He did not reply, simply drawing a knife from his boot. Clarke recoiled, wondering if he would truly dare to kill her.

“You think that your beloved will rescue you?” he asked, cutting the binds from her wrists.

“I never said he was my beloved. But yes he will come for me. That I know.”

He stood up, looking down at her curiously.

“You admit that you do not love your fiance?”

Clarke stood as well, unwilling to let him look down on her like that.

“He knows I do not love him,” she said, staring him level in the eyes.

“Perhaps he knows that you are not capable of love,” he said, turning away from her.

She felt a stab of anger and devastation in her chest, tears prickling at her eyes without her permission.

“I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream,” she hissed, balling her hands into fists.

He whirled around, his eyes now filled with fury and betrayal.

“Where I come from, there are penalties for lying,” he said, clearly threatening her.

“I’m am not lying,” Clarke said, refusing to back down. “But what could a man like you know of love?”

“A man like me?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she nodded, stepping forward. “I know who you are. The Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it.”

He bowed low, his arms spread out and a smirk on his face as he straightened up.

“With pride. What can I do for you?”

Clarke’s lip curled at his admission and she wished for nothing but this man’s death, even if she had to make it happen herself.

“You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.”

He shook his head,  _ tsking _ at her as if he was disappointed.

“Hardly complimentary, Princess. Why such anger?”

“You killed the man I love,” Clarke said, her voice breaking.

He smiled, cruel and unfeeling.

“It’s possible. I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours?” he said, pacing in front of her. “Another prince like this one?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “A farm boy. Poor and perfect. With eyes as dark and beautiful as the night sky. Your ship attacked his on the High Seas. And the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

Clarke turned away from him, unwilling to let him see the tears she shed over what she’d lost. What he’d taken from her. She felt his eyes on her but he did not speak for several moments.

“I can’t afford to make exceptions,” he finally said, his voice light. “I mean once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you and then it’s nothing but work all the time.”

Clarke whirled around, angry once more.

“You mock my pain!” she shouted.

“Life is pain, Princess,” he hissed in return, stepping forward to stand mere inches from her. “I remember this farm boy of yours. Does it bother you to hear?”

She focused all of her anger in her eyes, hoping he might see how much she wished him dead.

“Nothing you can say will upset me,” Clarke said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He died well. That should please you. He said to me, ‘Please, I need to live,’” he smiled again but there was no true joy behind it. “It was the ‘please’ that caught my interest. I asked him what was so important for him in this life. ‘True love,’ he replied. And then he spoke of a girl surpassing beauty and faithfulness. I can only assume he meant you. You should thank me for destroying him before he found out what you really are.”

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to attack him outright for his words.

“And what am I?” Clarke asked, her voice barely containing her fury.

“Faithfulness he talked of, Madame, your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me truly, when you found he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince at the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

She lashed out at his words, striking him across the face with the palm of her hand.

“I died that day,” she cried.

The look he gave her was almost one of surprise and even apology. But his pity was not something that she wanted.

“And you can die too for all I care,” she said quieter, shoving him once more.

This time the push sent him sprawling down the hill and as he went, she heard his three words echoing around her.

“As… you… wish!”

Clarke gasped, her hands flying to her mouth at the familiar words.

“What have I done?” she whispered.

Without a second thought, she threw herself after him, grunting and cursing as she tumbled down the hill behind him. Once she reached the bottom, Clarke spat her hair out of her mouth and took a deep breath, rolling over onto her back. As soon as she did, he was hovering above her, his mask gone and his eyes filled with emotion. Clarke reached up, brushing her hand through his dark hair.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted, brushing her fingers over his cheek and marvelling over the fact that he was really there.

“I’ll explain later,” Bellamy said, pulling her up to sit.

As soon as he was done checking her for injury, his hands cradled her face gently and he pressed the lightest of kisses to her lips. For Clarke, it was not enough. She surged forward and kissed him deeper, hoping that this wasn’t another one of her dreams. When Bellamy pulled away from her, she opened her eyes only to see a hurt expression upon his face.

“I told you I would come back for you. Why didn’t you wait?”

She frowned, averting her eyes. If she told him the whole story, he would go confront Prince Tristan himself and possibly get killed in the confrontation. She could not let that happen.

“You were dead,” she said quietly.

His hand lifted her chin gently.

“Death cannot stop true love,” Bellamy said, smiling tenderly at her. “All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Clarke returned the smile, brushing her thumb over his freckled cheek.

“I will never doubt again,” she told him.

“There will never be a need,” he assured her before leaning in to kiss her once more.

* * *

It felt wrong, riding away on Tristan’s horse. Looking back, she saw Bellamy standing amidst the royal guards, looking at her with overwhelming sadness. She hoped that he understood. She could not watch him die if she could do something to stop it. She’d already made the choice to go with Tristan for one Blake. It was not a hard decision to do it for the other.

_ Clarke heard the shouts before she saw the royal guards filling the village square. As she hurried out of the shop she was in, she saw that they were pushing her people around, laughing as they tried to run away. When Octavia was thrown to the ground, Clarke darted forward without a second thought, putting herself between the guards and her friend. _

_ “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. _

_ The guards sneered at her. _

_ “The king demands more taxes,” he said, waving a royal decree in the air. _

_ Clarke gaped at him, wondering how many more taxes the royal family planned to take before the country was bled dry. _

_ “Clarke,” Octavia said, trying to pull her away. _

_ “I demand to speak to the king,” she said, stepping closer. “I have the right to speak for my people.” _

_ “A right?” one of them laughed. “What makes you think that you have a right to demand anything?” _

_ He struck her as soon as he finished, sending her sprawling to the ground with a sharp cry. Blood filled her mouth but she still glared up at the guard who hit her. Octavia helped her to her feet while shooting a glare at the guards. _

_ “Enough.” _

_ The voice rang out, echoing around the square and putting a stop to everything. They all looked up to see the prince riding in, surveying everything with an almost disinterested look. Clarke wiped away the blood and stood up straighter, staring him down defiantly. _

_ “You have your royal audience,” he said, dropping down from his horse. _

_ “Bow to Prince Tristan!” one of the guards yelled. _

_ Unwillingly, the townspeople all sank into bows. Clarke did not break eye contact with the prince, curtsying low before straightening up again. _

_ “If you take more money from these people, they won’t be able to feed their families. You’ll be killing them all,” she said, her dislike for him and his family clear in her voice. _

_ He stared at her, looking as though he was considering her carefully. _

_ “Perhaps we can discuss it further at my castle,” he offered her. _

_ Clarke stepped away from him, pushing Octavia behind her. _

_ “Why would I do that?” she said, scowling at him. _

_ “Because you don’t want me to massacre your entire village right before your eyes,” he replied carelessly, glancing around. _

_ Her eyes widened and she looked from him to Octavia and the rest of the people she knew and loved. The prince was right. She couldn’t stand by and watch him kill everyone. _

_ “Why?” she asked carefully. _

_ “I like pretty things,” Prince Tristan said, smiling for the first time. _

_ It was cold, almost feral. _

_ “Don’t,” Octavia murmured, holding her back. _

_ Clarke turned to face her, swallowing hard before speaking. _

_ “Take care of them for me,” she said, cupping the cheeks of her friend and almost sister. _

_ Octavia’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. _

_ “Bellamy wouldn’t want this,” she said. _

_ Clarke’s heart hurt at the thought of him. _

_ “He wouldn’t have wanted a lot of things,” she said quietly, giving Octavia a quick, tight hug before walking away. _

_ Looking up at the prince, she nodded at him. _

_ “I’ll go with you if you promise to leave this village alone,” she said. _

_ He simply nodded, holding out his hand. She took it, trying to choke back the sick feeling it gave her. Once she was settled on his horse, he climbed on behind her, smirked around at the village and took off down the road with his guards following him. _

_ “What is your name?” he asked her as they rode further away from the only home she’d ever known. _

_ “Clarke,” she said, hoping it was too quiet for him to hear. _

_ “Smile, Princess Clarke,” Tristan said, reaching up with one hand to stroke her hair. “You’ll be the most beautiful bride in all the land.” _

_ She gritted her teeth and chased away her tears, steeling herself for what was ahead. _

“I’m pleased you came with me,” Prince Tristan said, pulling her out of the memory.

Clarke inhaled deeply, realizing that tears were dripping down her cheeks this time.

“You never give me much of a choice,” she replied, wiping them away.

“Smile Clarke,” he said, reaching back to squeeze her thigh almost painfully. “We’ll be married in a fortnight. You’ll be the future queen of this realm.”

Clarke did not smile, closing her eyes and taking a deep, fortifying breath. It was worth it to save the man she loved, just like it was worth it before to save her people. But now that she’d lost Bellamy for a second time, she didn’t know how to summon the will to go on.

* * *

As Clarke sank into the chair at her vanity table, her hands were trembling and her vision was blurred by the tears in her eyes. Tristan would arrive any moment now. She had no intention of being unprepared. Reaching out, she opened a bejeweled case that was disguised as a jewelry box. Instead of sapphires and pearls, a silver dagger lay on a velvet cushion, a gift from one of the courtiers who wasn’t a fan of the reigning family. Taking a hold of the hilt, Clarke pulled it out and stared at the blade, seeing her own blue eyes reflected in the polished metal.

“There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world,” a voice said from behind her, causing her to gasp and almost drop the dagger. “It would be a pity to damage yours.”

Clarke whirled around only to see Bellamy lounging in her bed, looking as careless and proud as ever, a smirk on his lips. She pressed a hand to her chest out of surprise, unable to believe that he was really there.

“The dagger is not for me,” Clarke said, approaching the bed slowly.

He smiled wider, realizing her intent as she sat next to him. Clarke reached out, stroking his hair softly with a smile.

“I assume it is meant for your fiance then,” he said.

Clarke’s smile fell and she pulled her hand away.

“Bellamy, there’s something you have to understand,” she said, reluctantly looking into his eyes. “I agreed to marry Tristan so that he wouldn’t attack our town. They were threatening to kill everyone, including Octavia.”

His eyes widened slightly and he suddenly looked as though he understood everything.

“Clarke…” he began.

“You were dead, Bellamy,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “I had no choice.”

He shushed her, reaching out to take her hand. It looked to her like it took every bit of his energy to do so, which doubled her panic as she wondered what tortures Tristan had inflicted on him.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke cried, putting her hand on his cheek. “I didn’t want to do it but he was so determined. How will you ever forgive me?”

“For what?” Bellamy said, looking at her with nothing but understanding.

“I married him,” Clarke admitted miserably.

He let out a breathless laugh.

“I doubt that,” he said.

She frowned at him through her tears.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you say ‘I do’?”

Clarke thought about it for a moment before shaking her head.

“Tristan made the priest skip that part,” she said.

He nodded, looking like he expected that.

“Then the marriage never happened. Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”

Clarke gasped and turned around to see Tristan in the doorway to the bedchamber, a cold look on his face.

“I’ll fix that soon enough,” he promised, drawing his sword from its scabbard. “But first I kill you.”

“You won’t get near him,” Clarke said, standing up with the dagger still gripped in her hand.

“You think you can stop me, wife?” he asked.

“I will never be your wife,” she hissed, Bellamy’s words giving her the will to be brave again.

Tristan let out a humorless laugh.

“You think you scare me?” he asked, advancing on her.

Something made him stop, though, and when she looked, Clarke saw Bellamy pushing himself up to sit. He was pale and trembling but he still managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“You won’t win this fight,” he promised the prince.

“We will wed for real this time,” Tristan replied, grinning at them. “And this time her dress with be red with blood. Your blood.”

As he lunged at Bellamy, Clarke stuck her foot out and tripped him, causing him to fall on the bed awkwardly. Bellamy scrambled with him for a moment, coming out on top with his arm wrapped around Tristan’s throat. Unwilling to give him the chance to break away, Clarke brought the dagger down with a guttural noise, burying it deep in Tristan’s chest. He gurgled, staring up at her with surprise as blood stained his own wedding clothes. Clarke watched as he fell to the ground, barely summoning the strength to pull the blade from his heart. As soon as he did so, his body grew limp and his eyes fluttered closed as he let out his last few breaths. Clarke stared at him for several moments before catching Bellamy as he slumped forward.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, helping him sit back on the bed.

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’m in perfect health.”

Clarke gave him a skeptical look.

“He was tortured,” a voice said from behind him.

She looked around to see one of the men who originally kidnapped her, blood on his clothing but no trace of injury.

“He’ll survive it,” Lincoln assured her.

“You,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“He’s here with me,” Bellamy assured her.

“We need to get out of here,” Lincoln said, eyeing Tristan’s body.

She helped him hoist Bellamy up, pulling her dagger out of her dead fiance’s hand before hurrying after them. It was remarkably easy to leave the castle since most of the guards were out there fighting the resistance that Bellamy and Lincoln must have mustered as a distraction.

“The royal family isn’t popular, well… anywhere,” Bellamy said when she questioned it.

“Good for us, bad for Tristan,” she said with a smile, feeling justified now that the man who brought so much misery into her life.

When they made it outside to the stables, she paused at the sight of Roan, her other kidnapper. He stood with four horses and a smirk on his face.

“Him too?” she asked Bellamy.

“I see you found the princess,” Roan said, looking at her.

“Not a princess anymore,” Clarke said, reaching up to take the crown off of her head. “Consider this your payment.”

She tossed it his way and he caught it easily.

“We can share it,” he offered Lincoln.

“I have no desire for wealth,” Lincoln replied.

Clarke watched as they helped Bellamy onto a horse before she climbed on behind him.

“We won’t need the third,” she said, taking the reins so that he could rest.

“Hell of a woman you have there,” Roan acknowledged, mounting his own horse.

“I agree,” Bellamy said.

Clarke smiled and pecked his cheek before getting the horse to move. They did not stop for hours, putting as much distance between them and the castle as they could. When they could finally see their village in the distance, Clarke pulled the horse to a stop and took a deep breath, almost unable to believe that they’d made it.

“Are you alright?” Bellamy asked, sounding much improved.

Clarke put her chin on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she said, smiling widely as she spoke the words.

Bellamy turned around as best he could, looking into her eyes.

“I love you too,” he said, meaning every word.

Clarke leaned forward, kissing him deeply. Despite the awkward position, how tired they both were, and the eyes of Roan and Lincoln that were upon them, it was the greatest kiss they’d ever shared. Even more, it might have been the most passionate, most pure kiss in the history of kisses. It was perfect.


End file.
